The Missouri countryside was sleepy. The people of the small towns seemed to have a view of life that didn't stretch beyond the limits of the outlying cornfields. They didn't warm up easily to strangers coming from St. Louis, raising funds for programs that wouldn't benefit their town. Jenny was raising funds for missionary work with a team of young people that sometimes traveled all over the state. In these rural locales she was often questioned, "Way-er are yew fru-um?" (Where are you from?) spoken in the elongated drawl common to Missouri. When she said, "St. Louis," they responded with, "I don't believe today," a euphemism for; "No thank you, I don't want any today."

The expressions, "I don't believe," or, "I don't believe today," spoken in what her Yankee ears perceived to be a countrified southern drawl, ignited a desire in Jenny to kick their southern shins shiny. The provincial phrases infuriated her. These people seemed incapable of giving to any cause outside the five mile radius of their podunk town. Her critical view of them did not reflect the embracing love she was 'supposed to' have as a missionary. These encounters brought to reality Jesus' urging that one should, "Love your enemy."

This particular summer day she walked with a carton of candy under her arm, from one shop to the next in the charming little town square and was met with rejection again and again and again, much like a row of dominoes pitching downward in neat succession.

When she had rounded the town square and had sold exactly nothing, she sat down under a leafy tree on a park bench and did her best to not wish curses on the townspeople, their ancestors and descendants.

She had met the hardware store owner who questioned her religious beliefs and who assured her she was bound for hell. She was whispered about by mean spirited waitresses as they poured coffee for farmers in overalls at the counter, while Jenny sat in a far corner booth drinking coffee. Someone had threatened to call the sheriff if she didn't show them a peddler's license.

After shedding some tears and eating a Snickers bar, she felt ready to continue. The green leafy trees stretched their gorgeous, silvery selves over the streets, and she marveled at how God's creation still was able to smile down on the good and the wicked alike.

Her good friend, Margaret, an older sister on the missionary team, had told her that she had to love the people from a long way off. Margaret said when you walk into a store to sell candy, think about loving the people as you walk toward them. Smile at them with the thought that God loves them already. Ask God for a generous heart and generous eyes as you walk towards them. You're not there to get their money, you're there to love them with God's love. If Jenny could do that she found a wonderful sense of freedom, gulping in an atmosphere above the commonplace.

It hadn't been so tough to try to do that in St. Louis. Jenny sold candy in the little neighborhood stores and bars during the day, and knocked on doors in the ethnic neighborhoods in the evening. She loved the row houses. She made a game to see how fast she could run up one set of stairs, and down the next and up the next and down the next. Running like that made her breathless with enthusiasm, and selling the candy was relatively easy. She felt free working in the big, industrial city. She was part of the landscape and nobody questioned her.

While she worked, she prayed that God would bless each person who gave a donation. She tried very hard to convey sincerity to people when she sold the candy. It was easy to get into a silly and humorous frame of mind when she could make people laugh, but at those times nobody bought anything. It made her feel a little sick and insincere. She knew that when she became what they called "off center", that she needed to pray. Jenny discovered that during a fundraising day, the only place she had found that could be an absolute haven of privacy for prayer was in a gas station bathroom. To maintain what Margaret spoke of as the generous heart of love, she needed daily prayer. In fact she needed what the missionaries called "show down prayer" with God.

Jenny stood up and picked the peanuts from the Snickers bar out of her teeth, and looked down the streets and saw a gas station in the distance. She walked towards it, blinking up at the summer day, straining to feel God's majesty in the green trees. She got the key to the ladies room from the attendant and went in to pray. Gas station bathrooms were much the same; grimy tile floors, grimy tile walls, a miserable toilet, sink and wastebasket. It was the most humble place to go but it was private. She pulled some paper towels from the dispenser and put them on the floor and knelt down on them to keep her slacks from getting dirty. Then she prayed.

It was hard to begin praying, the gap between herself and God was often awkward and distant. She wanted to shout and howl from the depths of her soul, but someone might hear, so instead she prayed in a desperate whisper, her body tense and urgent, displaying body language such as squeezing her hands together or pounding herself on the thighs. She begged God to reveal Himself.

"Heavenly Father, I'm sorry I can't love these people, I'm sorry I can't feel your heart towards them, I want to love them but I feel dead. I feel dead. How can I continue, how can I find the motivation to continue, please show me how to find the desire to give myself to you every day! It is hard to love people who seem mean—I don't know how You do it..."

There came a point during these prayers, when the urgent supplications quieted to a murmur. The pledges of love and devotion were sincere as a young wife's whispers in the ear of her husband. After talking to God at length about His will, the condition of mankind and personal rededication, Jenny stood up, and looked around. The internal sanctuary she found in the sweet, listening presence of God, was a stark contrast to the filthy bathroom. As one atmosphere dissipated into the other it was hard to believe she could coexist in the two places. Her eyes adjusted to the daylight again and she washed her face, which was red with crying.

On this day it seemed wherever she went in the little town, she encountered suspicion and unfriendliness. She resigned herself to continue and decided to head for the crumbling edge of town. People were usually more friendly off the beaten path. She walked along a set of railroad tracks that led out of town. She passed an old abandoned railroad station that had two signs for restrooms painted on the side of the building. They read "white" and "colored". She gasped when she saw that and stood looking at the apparition for a moment.

As she walked along there were feed stores, grain elevators and a beauty shop. She wasn't having much luck so she finally sat down on the railroad tracks and chewed on a piece of grass. She wasn't going to be picked up for a couple of hours and she still hadn't sold much candy in the evil twin of Mayberry R.F.D.. While she sat there squinting in the midday sun she saw a figure approaching.

It was a black man, rather large, dressed in blue work clothes like the kind worn by a mechanic. She glanced up occasionally as he got closer, planning to jump up and ask him if he wanted some candy. The closer he got, she could see he had some kind of skin disease. He was covered on his face, scalp, and arms—everywhere visible—with cysts or warts of some kind. It was a truly hideous and horrible affliction, so much so that she had to endure a wave of nausea before she could look at him and speak to him.

The man's clothes were in tatters, and his shoes were old and worn down. She tried to smile at him as sincerely as possible as she said, "Sir, would you like to buy some candy to help our church? It's $2."

Without hesitation, the man reached down into his tattered pockets and said, "Sure, missy." He pulled out two wadded up one dollar bills and handed them to Jenny. She gave him the candy saying thank you and watched him walk out of sight.

She sat down on the railroad tracks and cried.

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